Kaja always knew that her grandfather's compass did not show midnight. It only stopped at one dash when the sea was silent. On a November evening, the needle suddenly twitched, as if someone had blown under the glass. The arrow pointed not to midnight, but to the cliff behind the abandoned lighthouse above the bay. Kaja threw on her jacket, picked up her torch and ran down the steep stairs. On the way, she sent a short message to Oskar: "The compass is alive again." Oskar was waiting by the pier, wearing a hoodie and with a rucksack full of batteries. - 'Lead the way before it starts to rain,' he muttered, glancing up at the milky mist from the sea. The path to the cliff was closed off with tape, but they knew a side passage. Downwind it smelled of iodine, rust and old varnish from the lighthouse door. Behind the warehouse they discovered a cracked floor with a mosaic resembling a star map. When Kaja applied her compass, the stone trembled and something clicked underneath. Beneath the mosaic, a low hatch opened into a corridor, cool as a well. The walls were damp and scrawled with signs they didn't know from textbooks. Waves, crabs, wind roses, and four brass levers with names. - Boreas, Zephyr, Notos, Euros," Kaja listed, remembering her grandfather's lullaby about winds. She touched the Zephyr lever; the compass needle trembled and sparkled the glass like ice. The levers themselves jumped into an arrangement she had never seen before in her life. The wall opposite tensed and rippled, like the surface of an inverted lake. Beyond the rippling entrance was a space whose logic did not resemble a corridor. The sky hung underfoot and dark waves stood vertically upwards. A staircase of light emerged from the gloom, as if someone had drawn it from scratch. The air tasted of salt and lemon, and everything sounded like the breath of a machine. - 'If this is a joke, you've got brilliant props,' whispered Oskar admiringly. Kaja felt the compass warm her hand, as if it wanted to go first. Letters appeared on the glass that had not been there before, not a trace of them. Don't come back if you can't remember the name - it wrote itself out, in a faint light. - Whose name? - she asked, but only a hum and an echo answered her. Then they heard a second voice, quite close, as if from behind a thin sheet of mirror. - 'Kaju, don't open,' it said, and at the same time another whisper asked: - Come in. A ship made of sails from the stars sailed over the stairs, and the hatch squeaked. The passage began to close, and Kaja lifted her foot over the first step.